


"I'm not bloody dying" (but I still need you).

by Mazelike



Series: Great, Newtmas got me bloody inspired. [8]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Sick Newt, Sickfic, Soulmates feel each other's pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazelike/pseuds/Mazelike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His thoughts were interrupted when, suddenly, he had to grip the table forcefully with both hands in a pitiful attempt to stop the merciless pain that invaded his body. The violent gesture made Minho's head shot up.</p><p>“Thomas?” The words barely came to Thomas' ear, the brunet too focused on the feelings going through his body.</p><p>“I – Min, I think I'm gonna throw up...,” Thomas tried weakly, feeling his stomach twist. That's when he felt the burn in his throat, a feeling he wasn't familiar with but identified immediately as the sensation of vomiting. Thomas felt his throat tighten, burn, and blinked his eyes in confusion, trying to clear his head. He was feeling it, but he was not throwing up. Which could only mean one thing...</p><p>“Oh, shuck, Newt!” he whimpered, throat a little bit sore, heart aching in his chest as he realized he should have recognized Newt's pain sooner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I'm not bloody dying" (but I still need you).

 

It started at school. Thomas and Minho were following their usual history class and Minho had been dozing off for a few minutes, leaving Thomas to the annoying task of listening and taking notes for the both of them. It had only been a few minutes, but soon, Minho was raising his head from his table, where it had previously been lying, and looking at Thomas, an annoyed look on his face.

“Thomas, could you shucking please stop moving and lemme sleep?”

That was not a question. It came out more like a threat. Minho was not a morning person, and Thomas knew that he didn't want anything to do with his Asian friend before at least 10am. Thus, he just brushed his best friend's behavior off and gave in.

“Sure, shuckface,” Thomas replied without a second thought, rolling his eyes, not even looking back at Minho for more than a second.

“Thank you,” Minho sighed sarcastically, his head disappearing once again as he rested it in the crook of his arm.

Thomas kept his attention on the lesson, trying his best to follow the class but finding it hard to do so: his mind kept wandering elsewhere, jumping from an idea to another. Before he even came close to realizing it, Thomas's leg was bouncing up and down in an almost nervous gesture. He actually did not even notice the gesture himself. It was Minho, who, exasperated, had raised his head once more, sternly asking “Thomas, what's shucking going on?”

“What? Nothing,” Thomas whispered-yelled back.

“Nothing? Really? Then calm your damn leg down, shank. I've barely had three hours of sleep last night, and I need my beauty sleep, got it?”

Thomas smirked instead of answering, knowing that Minho used the excuse of “needing beauty sleep” every time they had an history class. He then focused his attention on his leg, trying to calm himself down. But a couple of minutes after the bouncing had stopped, Thomas realized it had been distracting him from the dull and uncomfortable pain in his stomach. He ran a hand over his shirt as he felt his insides burn a little. He started to move his leg slowly again, finding a small comfort in the gesture.

Thomas could not help but raise an eyebrow. How in the world was he sick? He had been extra careful, had not eaten anything bad, and was usually quite resistant.

His thoughts were interrupted when, suddenly, he had to grip the table forcefully with both hands in a pitiful attempt to stop the merciless pain that invaded his body. The violent gesture made Minho's head shot up.

“Thomas?” The words barely came to Thomas' ear, the brunet too focused on the feelings going through his body.

“I – Min, I think I'm gonna throw up...,” Thomas tried weakly, feeling his stomach twist. That's when he felt the burn in his throat, a feeling he wasn't familiar with but identified immediately as the sensation of vomiting. Thomas felt his throat tighten, burn, and blinked his eyes in confusion, trying to clear his head. He was feeling it, but he was not throwing up. Which could only mean one thing...

“Oh, shuck, Newt!” he whimpered, throat a little bit sore, heart aching in his chest as he realized he should have recognized Newt's pain sooner.

Thomas did not waste a second and raised from his seat, turning around and going for the door immediately. He heard someone calling his name – probably the teacher – but he didn't look back. He didn't slow down until he was in the corridor, desperately trying to clear his head in order to locate Newt.

There was only one place the blond could be if he was that sick: the toilets. Thomas took a turn on his right and walked as fast as he could, hating himself for not realizing sooner that Newt was the one who was sick. Of course, it had been Newt. Thomas himself rarely got sick, but more importantly, he should have felt that it was Newt. He should have.

The closer he got to his destination, the worse the burning was. When Thomas found himself in front of the toilets, he pushed the door open quickly, entering the small space without an hesitation.

“Newt?” he called out. The sound of rough coughing and retching answered him. He took a now hesitant step to his left, where the sound had come from, and pushed one of the doors of the stalls. It was not locked and Thomas was met with Newt's back, the blond gripping the edges of the toilets so hard his knuckles had turned white.

“Hey, Newt, baby,” the words left his mouth instantly, instinctively, and Thomas could see Newt's shoulders relax at the proximity of his voice. “Here, Newt, you're gonna be okay,” he whispered gently, kneeling next to the blond. Thomas put his hand on his shoulder and started rubbing slow circles there, trying to make Newt forget about the pain running through his entire body: he had felt it not even seconds ago, he knew Newt was suffering. It was easier for him, now that he was with Newt: the pain and burn Thomas was feeling had lessened a bit, something he knew would happen because, obviously, the bond would make sure he was able to take care of his soulmate.

It was easier in a way, because Thomas had now found Newt, and all the worry and pain had considerably lessened, but it was also harder now. Indeed, he had to witness Newt in such a pitiful state, and his heart broke when he felt Newt tense under the palm of his hand, choking on air as he was trying to supress another coughing fit.

“Shh, Newt, you're okay, if you want to throw up some more, go ahead.” It was not really poetic, Thomas was well aware of that, but he did not really have a choice. Newt breathed in deep under him, and let out a weak “Can't. Hurts.”

“Alright, alright, let's sit you down properly then, okay?”

Newt nodded, but did not let go of the toilet seat, his arms still contracted. So Thomas let his instincts take over, and let one of his hands run along Newt's neck and gently run through the soft, yet a little sweaty, blond hair. Newt relaxed enough to allow Thomas to shift him slowly, pulling him in his embrace. It was easy, comforting Newt, the tender gestures and soft words coming to him instinctively, as if Thomas had been doing it his whole life.

“Newt, shuck, you're burning...,” Thomas whispered against the blond's hair, running a hand on his forehead while holding Newt against him, the blond's back glued to his chest.

“I know...,” Newt let out, shaking a little as a shiver ran through his body. The echo of his pain hit Thomas for a second, making him clench his jaw.

“We're gonna go back to your place, alright? I'm gonna take you home, you need to rest,” Thomas whispered softly. Newt was a dead weight against him, fully leaning on Thomas, but Thomas still felt him nod against his chest. “Alright, let's get out of here.”

They made it out of the toilets really easily, before Newt grumbled “We need to flush the toilets, Tommy.” and Thomas had to bite back a sigh when he realized Newt was right.

“You can stand up on your own, right?”

“Sure, I'm not bloody dying,” Newt replied, but the lack of playfulness in his voice and the look on his face told Thomas otherrwise.

“I'll be right back.”

It took Thomas less than a second to come back to Newt, partly because as soon as he went a little bit too far from his soulmate, his body started aching again, useless reminder of his boyfriend's state, partly because he did not want to leave him alone now that he knew how bad Newt was feeling.

 

 

Minho felt like he was going to die. It had been five hours since Thomas had left their first class, feeling sick but cursing under his breath, whispering Newt's name, and Minho had not seen either one of them for the rest of day. He was now ten minutes away from his freedom, waiting desperately for his last class to end to go to Newt's house, where he was sure his friends were.

When the bell rang, eventually, after what felt like hours of suffering, Minho was the first to get on his feet and left the room quickly, throwing his bag over his shoulder. He ran to the bus station, caught the bus just in time, and headed towards Newt's. He sent Thomas a quick text on the way, the brunet replying with a short “see ya then.”

When Minho arrived, ten minutes later, and took a look through the window, he saw absolutely nothing. Nobody. He knocked on the front door, and when nobody answered, he pressed the handle and opened the door. The house was not locked, and immediately, he was greeted by soft whispers coming from the living room. He tiptoed there, trying not to make too much noise.

But what he saw when he reached the living room made him stop dead in his tracks. He instantly felt like he shouldn't be witnessing this scene, yet here he was.

Newt and Thomas were sat on one of the couches in the living room, facing the TV. It was probably on but muted, because Minho could hear the characteristic low buzzing of the device. To be more accurate though, Thomas was sat on the couch. Newt was sat in Thomas's lap, his legs as close to his chest as possible, his feet resting on the side of Thomas's right thigh. The blond was wrapped in a soft blanket, one of Thomas's arms safely tucked around him, keeping him close and in place.

Newt's head was resting on Thomas's chest, and the brunet's other hand was gently scratching his hair, fingers running through the blond strands over and over again, never rubbing the same spot twice.

Newt looked dead tired, but he was purring contentely, completely relaxed and trusting in the other boy's arms. Thomas had that look of pure adoration and fondness on his face that made Minho's heart melt and made him feel like throwing up in disgust all the same.

It had not always been easy between Newt and Thomas, first because they were both boys and neither of them had expected their soulmate to be a boy, but also because they had found their soulmate really quickly, soon becoming one of the only soulmate couple Minho knew. They had had a bit of a rough time trying to get used to their bound – they had actually avoided each other a lot when they had figured out they were soulmates, too scared to realize what it all meant. It had not been long before they had realized that it was becoming harder and harder for them to ignore the other. Seeing them right now, so lost in each other, reminded Minho of the way their relationship had evolved through the last months.

“Naaah, I'm not kissing you, shuckface, you're sick,” Thomas whispered-giggled in Newt's ear, stroking his back over the blanket and scratching his hair just behind his ear.

Newt laughed at that, whinning playfully to get Thomas's attention. “Tommy... Can't sleep if you don't kiss me good night.” The grin and the yawn that followed clearly contradicted the blond's statement.

“I can't kiss you good night in the middle of the afternoon, now, can I?”

“You're such a shank,” Newt said fondly, shifting a little to get closer to Thomas. The brunet gladly held him tighter and closer to his chest. Minho quickly went back to the front door as Thomas slowly kissed Newt's hair, whispering sweet nothings into his ear to help him fall asleep.

Minho had definitely nothing to worry about: Newt was in good hands.

He just sent Thomas a quick message: **"See you soon shank. Take care of him. And lock the front door, dumbass!"**

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (Back real soon for tons of updates because I kinda had a writer's block and it's gone now, which means... Crappy OS and fanfics, yeaaah! (Okay, I'm gonna stop now!))


End file.
